Poem of the Day: ‘Mr. Dana, of The New York Sun’

Charles Anderson Dana (1819–1897) was editor and part owner of The New Sun, back in the day. But to say only that is to undersell the man. He was a titan of journalism at a time when the titans were real and battled gods. Besides, he had a taste for poetry, as all literate people did in those days, and edited one of the standard anthologies of the era, “The Household Book of Poetry” in 1859. He even translated and found an American publisher for “Truth and Poetry,” from Goethe’s autobiography, in 1850. Eugene Field (1850–1895) was a newspaperman who published light verse — light verse that proved popular, famously including the children’s poem “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod,” the nonsense verse “The Duel” (about a fight between a Gingham Dog and a Calico Cat), and the sentimental “Little Boy Blue.” He coined the phrase “Lover’s Lane” in a poem reminiscing about St. Joseph, Missouri.Field also spent two years as editor of the Denver Tribune, and he wrote today’s Poem of the Day about a reporter named Cantell Whoppers who showed up in Denver, looking for work — and telling everyone that he had worked for Mr. Dana. The real-life John Arkins of the Rocky Mountain News wanted him, and so did future governor Job Cooper, but Fields got him. As it turns out, the reporter . . . but then you have to read to the end of the poem to learn what happened.Written in rhymed couplets of seven-foot lines in 12-line stanzas, the comic 1880s poem is in supposed dialect — an annoyance now, I think, but common for the time. And the result is a tribute to Dana and the Sun, and a mocking of the newspaper business.Mr. Dana, of the New York Sunby Eugene FieldThar showed up out’n Denver in the spring uv ’81A man who’d worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun.His name wuz Cantell Whoppers, ’nd he wuz a sight ter viewEz he walked inter the orfice ’nd inquired fer work ter do.Thar warn’t no places vacant then, — fer be it understood,That wuz the time when talent flourished at that altitood;But thar the stranger lingered, tellin’ Raymond ’nd the restUv what perdigious wonders he could do when at his best,Till finally he stated (quite by chance) that he hed doneA heap uv work with Dana on the Noo York Sun.Wall, that wuz quite another thing; we owned that ary cussWho’d worked f’r Mr. Dana must be good enough fer us!And so we tuk the stranger’s word ’nd nipped him while we could,For if we didn’t take him we knew John Arkins would;And Cooper, too, wuz mouzin’ round fer enterprise ’nd brains,Whenever them commodities blew in across the plains.At any rate we nailed him, which made ol’ Cooper swearAnd Arkins tear out handfuls uv his copious curly hair;But we set back and cackled, ’nd bed a power uv funWith our man who’d worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun.It made our eyes hang on our cheeks ’nd lower jaws ter drop,Ter hear that feller tellin’ how ol’ Dana run his shop:It seems that Dana wuz the biggest man you ever saw, —He lived on human bein’s, ’nd preferred to eat ’em raw!If he hed Democratic drugs ter take, before he took ’em,As good old allopathic laws prescribe, he allus shook ’em.The man that could set down ’nd write like Dany never grew,And the sum of human knowledge wuzn’t half what Dana knew;The consequence appeared to be that nearly every oneConcurred with Mr. Dana of the Noo York Sun.This feller, Cantell Whoppers, never brought an item in, —He spent his time at Perrin’s shakin’ poker dice f’r gin.Whatever the assignment, he wuz allus sure to shirk,He wuz very long on likker and all-fired short on work!If any other cuss had played the tricks he dared ter play,The daisies would be bloomin’ over his remains to-day;But somehow folks respected him and stood him to the last,Considerin’ his superior connections in the past.So, when he bilked at poker, not a sucker drew a gunOn the man who ‘d worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun.Wall, Dana came ter Denver in the fall uv ’83.A very different party from the man we thought ter see, —A nice ’nd clean old gentleman, so dignerfied ’nd calm,You bet yer life he never did no human bein’ harm!A certain hearty manner ’nd a fulness uv the vestBetokened that his sperrits ’nd his victuals wuz the best;His face wuz so benevolent, his smile so sweet ’nd kind,That they seemed to be the reflex uv an honest, healthy mind;And God had set upon his head a crown uv silver hairIn promise uv the golden crown He meaneth him to wear.So, uv us boys that met him out’n Denver, there wuz noneBut fell in love with Dana uv the Noo York Sun.But when he came to Denver in that fall uv ’83,His old friend Cantell Whoppers disappeared upon a spree;The very thought uv seein’ Dana worked upon him so(They hadn’t been together fer a year or two, you know),That he borrered all the stuff he could and started on a bat,And, strange as it may seem, we didn’t see him after that.So, when ol’ Dana hove in sight, we couldn’t understandWhy he didn’t seem to notice that his crony wa’n’t on hand;No casual allusion, not a question, no, not one,For the man who’d “worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun!”We broke it gently to him, but he didn’t seem surprised,Thar wuz no big burst uv passion as we fellers had surmised.He said that Whoppers wuz a man he ’d never heerd about,But he mought have carried papers on a Jarsey City route;And then he recollected hearin’ Mr. Laffan sayThat he’d fired a man named Whoppers fur bein’ drunk one day,Which, with more likker underneath than money in his vest,Had started on a freight-train fur the great ’nd boundin’ West,But further information or statistics he had noneUv the man who’d “worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun.”We dropped the matter quietly ’nd never made no fuss, —When we get played for suckers, why, that’s a horse on us! —But every now ’nd then we Denver fellers have to laffTo hear some other paper boast uv havin’ on its staffA man who’s “worked with Dana,” ’nd then we fellers winkAnd pull our hats down on our eyes ’nd set around ’nd think.It seems like Dana couldn’t be as smart as people say,If he educates so many folks ’nd lets ’em get away;And, as for us, in future we’ll be very apt to shunThe man who “worked with Dana on the Noo York Sun.”But bless ye, Mr. Dana! may you live a thousan’ years,To sort o’ keep things lively in this vale of human tears;An’ may I live a thousan’, too, — a thousan’ less a day,For I shouldn’t like to be on earth to hear you’d passed away.And when it comes your time to go you’ll need no Latin chaffNor biographic data put in your epitaph;But one straight line of English and of truth will let folks knowThe homage ’nd the gratitude ’nd reverence they owe;You’ll need no epitaph but this: “Here sleeps the man who runThat best ’nd brightest paper, the Noo York Sun.”__________________________________________With “Poem of the Day,” The New York Sun offers a daily portion of verse selected by Joseph Bottum with the help of the North Carolina poet Sally Thomas, the Sun’s associate poetry editor. Tied to the day, or the season, or just individual taste, the poems are drawn from the deep traditions of English verse: the great work of the past and the living poets who keep those traditions alive. The goal is always to show that poetry can still serve as a delight to the ear, an instruction to the mind, and a tonic for the soul.

Poem of the Day: ‘Mr. Dana, of The New York Sun’

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